


Unmasked

by Kyonomiko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, F/M, First Kiss, POV Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/pseuds/Kyonomiko
Summary: Sometimes wearing a mask is a good way to learn who someone really is.





	Unmasked

Hermione Granger is standing off to the side, overlooking a lavish party. The grandiose event is hosted in the dungeon levels of Hogwarts by the most ostracized of the Houses. On the peaceful side of the war, the healing of loved-ones lost finally losing the worst of its sting, the Wizarding World is a much happier place.

Unless you sport a snake on your robes.

They were quiet, The Slytherins, the first few months of term; mostly sequestered in their dorms. The majority of them kept their heads down, their noses clean, and their mouths shut. And that isn't even mentioning how many simply didn't return. Gregory Goyle, for instance, was transferred to Durmstrang for his final year. Zabini ran off to Italy and started a Quidditch supplies shop using his inheritance from one of many of his ill-fated step fathers. Millicent Bulstrode has studied her N.E.W.T.S. from home and will be finishing with private tutors. 

Tracey Davis came back. As the only half-blood in the house, she returned to a lot of 'we knew you didn't belong with the snakes' and ‘I bet it was so hard for you'. Hermione had watched the girl smile and allow herself to be fawned over, only to sneak back to her dungeons where she seems to have acquired a seventh year boyfriend. Self-preservation being a defining trait, Hermione doesn't doubt for a moment that Davis is happy in her house, but equally relieved to avoid the judgment doled out to her housemates.

Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott returned, which wasn't much of a surprise. As she understands it, they had no choice if they wanted to prove their remorse and avoid Azkaban, banishment from Wizarding Britain, or execution. Hermione and Harry had spoken on Draco's behalf before the Wizengamot, citing his reluctance to give them up at his home as a sign of his coercion by this father. Oddly, Ron had spoken for Nott. Apparently they had formed a strange friendship during a Charms partnership in sixth year that lead Ron to believe in the young man's innocence. Though they've hardly spoken since, Ron has been adamant that Theo is a decent enough guy.

The one that surprised Hermione the most was Pansy Parkinson. After screaming that they should all give up Harry to the Dark Lord during the final battle, she assumed the girl wouldn't show her pug face. However she had returned, her up-turned nose in the air like she was better than everyone. It was only in quiet moments when she though no one was watching, that Hermione had seen her wilt, like a flower without sun. She's putting on a brave face and Hermione respects her a little for that.

Now, it is February, and the snakes have started to pop their heads out of their holes. When McGonagall suggested an event to celebrate Carnival season as well as promote house unity, Severus Snape had immediately suggested his students be in charge of hosting the event. The entire thing had been shocking: The fact that Snape would, not just volunteer, but nearly demand the task, but equally so that the Headmistress would so readily agree. The whole thing stank of a setup, if you ask Hermione. As stern as her old head of house had been, McGonagall was staunchly fair-minded. And if anyone could use a chance to redeem themselves to the student body, it was Snape's tarnished house. War hero though the man may be, he's still an antagonistic, smarmy arse and doesn't always do their reputation any favors.

So the Slytherins had planned a ball. It was no surprise to anyone that they would go the most ostentatious route. Students were encouraged to dress as formal as white tie and to don elaborate masks, imbued by magic if they so desired to keep their identities secret. They requested that no one dress in their own house colors and to even consider a charm on their voice. Though it was presented in the name of house unity, it was obvious to Hermione, and anyone who would listen to her theories that they were making a play to put everyone on equal ground for the evening. No prejudice, no pre-conceived notions.

Pfft, She'd thought. That's ironic: Wouldn't want to be prejudiced, would we?

She arrived exactly on time, as is her nature. When the ball was announced, Hermione wrote home to her mother that she needed something formal and to please send the beige dress she had worn to her cousin Maggie’s wedding.

Her mother had written back that she would do no such thing. “That dress”, she’d written, “was purchased for a semi-formal event. Don’t worry,” she’d said, “leave it to me.”

And so, two weeks before the event, a gown of deepest blue with Chiffon overlays had arrived. Complete with the sapphire earrings Hermione’s father had given his wife on their fifth anniversary, her parents had made sure her last outing before officially graduating into wizarding society would be memorable.

Looking around at the other guests, she’s grateful to her mother for her efforts. Many of her school mates look like they just walked off a muggle red carpet. 

The strangest part of eighth year for Hermione is that she is without her usual cohorts. Harry had shocked everyone when he announced he’d rather attend a muggle uni and spend some time away from the odd fame he’s known as a wizard. Ron, a little unsure what to do with himself, had decided to spend a year with Charlie in Romania. It has been a rough parting for the trio. After an emotionally messy break up between Hermione and Ron and then Ron’s view that Harry was “abandoning them” (read: Abandoning Him) in favor of muggles, they had parted on awkward terms. 

A few owls in the meantime and Hermione is convinced they will find their way back to each other with some personal growth behind them all. It didn’t hurt that Ron found “the love of his life” in a twenty-two year old Dragon handler named Alexandra. Somehow the sting of Hermione and Harry’s “betrayal” is no longer the subject of their letters. It’s a petulant and childish response on Ron’s part, if you ask Hermione, and it makes her equally happy to be mending their friendship as she is grateful she fled that relationship before it could really begin.

Unfortunately, all that means that Hermione finds herself at this ball, much as she does at Quidditch matches, eating in the Great Hall, and generally most of her days, unsure where she might seek company for a few hours before she can retreat to her dorm.

The answer comes in the expression of a dreamy Luna Lovegood who is floating toward Hermione across the room.

“Hullo, Hermione,” she greets in that breathless way she has. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Hermione notes that Luna’s mask seems to be made up of exposed bits and bobs from a watch: Gears and the like. It does virtually nothing to hide her identity. Any question it might have left, is absolutely squashed by her signature root vegetable earrings that hang amongst her blond tresses.

Then again, Hermione, in protest of the Slytherin desire for anonymity, had donned a simple and quite transparent filigree piece that covered barely the top half of her face. It seems neither of them is interested in hiding tonight.

“I’ve only just arrived,” Hermione shrugs. “It’s… very nice,” she lands on, unsure what else she can really say.

“Nice? This is the most lavish party Hogwarts has seen since the founders.”

Hermione looks up to find that she and her friend are being approached by two Slytherin males. One with shockingly blonde hair, the other with deep brown. For a house that was so insistent on anonymity, Draco Malfoy is not doing much to hide his appearance. He is smirking at her and, though his mouth looks different, his haughty confidence in the prowess in his own house, combined with the tell-tale hair, are more than enough clues to realize the lower half of his face is a glamour. Also undefined by the portion of his face she can see, she assumes the dark haired boy is Theo Nott who has been attached to Draco all year.

“You can personally attest to that after a thousand years of parties you didn’t attend, can you?” She raises her brow at the blonde in challenge.

“She’s got you there,” his friend replies, grinning and nudging him with an elbow. Suddenly, she likes Theo Nott just a bit more.

“Simply a deduction, Granger.”

It surprises her that Malfoy would give up that quickly…or politely… but she doesn’t argue the point. 

“No date this evening, ladies?” the presumed Draco asks of them. 

Hermione and Luna both answer that they are unescorted and the brunette scoffs. “Well that won’t do.” He looks toward his companion. “Will it? Seems a crime to leave a lady alone without a dance partner.”

They seem to share a meaningful glance before looking back at the pair of curious witches. Hermione is curious that the Slytherins are being so charming and much less… dickish… than she’d have expected. Luna is just naturally curious.

"Would you care to dance?" Nott is holding out his hand and it takes Hermione a moment to realize he means her. 

She glances at Luna and then back to the boy with his arm outstretched. Finally, kicking her brain into gear once again, she reaches hesitantly and places her palm against his. "Thank you," she says, unsure how else to verbalize her acceptance. He grins, and perfectly straight white teeth wink back at her. Hermione thinks briefly her parents would be proud if she brought this boy home. Much more so than Ronald.

The one time Hermione invited Ron to meet the Grangers, dining at her parents' favorite restaurant, her mother had watched, aghast, as he shoveled food in his mouth, napkin tucked into his shirt collar, and never once touched his knife. "I just don't know what kind of mother raises a grown man to cut through meat with the edge of a fork at a formal dinner,” she’d commented later. 

All things considered, Hermione was pleased he hadn't toppled his wine glass (which he held awkwardly in his monkey paws like a mug of ale) or picked his teeth at the table. Considering her mother's response to his preference for using the salad fork at every course, licking the food from it each time the plate was taken away, she had considered nothing more dramatic occurring as being a win.

It was also the last formal occasion they shared together before the break up. Hermione wasn't exactly a shallow person, and she could love him in spite of his manners, but it was indicative of his overall sloppy, casual lifestyle. Hermione saw her future of picking up after a husband like a mother after a toddler, and decided there was likely someone else more suited for her than Ron Weasley: Someone with much more maternal instinct than the career driven Hermione Granger.

She's getting ahead of herself, of course. It's only an offer to dance, but she's a planner by nature and, even if this is all they ever share, she sees in Theo Nott a possible future that was mere fantasy with Ron. Following the handsome pureblood to the center of the dance floor, she slips her hand into his and her other onto his shoulder, following smoothly into his lead.

"Well, well, you're full of surprises."

She looks at him in question, still enchanted by that perfect grin. "Am I?"

He nods. "Who knew Hermione Granger could dance?"

"Well," she offers with a wry smirk, "I knew it, if anyone had bothered to ask. I was forced into lessons every summer since I was four. Up until sixth year, that is." There is a moment of quiet, both of them likely contemplating the events that put an end to such a civil pastime as dancing. Then she adds, "You're a very good lead."

He scoffs, smile returning. "Of course I am. My lessons started when I was three."

"Well, I'm older than you, so I suppose that makes us about even then."

"How do you know?" He asks. 

"What? How old you are? I know who you are, Nott."

His smile grows wider, splitting his face and he chuckles. "Have me all figured out then, do you, Granger?"

She pauses. It is Theo right? She was sure... 

"I mean, I could be wrong but only so many snakes hang around Malfoy these days."

“Hmm… I can’t argue the point,” he ponders aloud. “Two Death Eater sons, just trying to make it through the year.”

She’s surprised by the self-deprecation and feels the Gryffindor instinct to come to his rescue. “You don’t have to do that,” she offers. “Not with me. That’s not how I think of you and you don’t have to bring yourself low for my benefit.”

“My, my. Aren’t you magnanimous?”

It’s hard to read his face, partially obscured by the mask, but it seems there is a touch of bitterness breaking through the previously playful banter.

“I’m really not,” she says, laughing lightly to break the tension she’s reading. “I’m actually a world-class grudge holder. But I find I’m more forgiving of handsome men that ask me to dance.”

“Ahh, so I’m handsome then, Granger?”

“Now you’re just digging for compliments,” she accuses with a grin. 

“So what if I am?” He asks, surprising her into a fluid spin then bringing her back, closer than before.

“Well,” she starts, slightly breathless from the intimate contact as he holds her close, “I don’t really know you well enough to give you much else.”

“Then let’s talk about you, shall we? Did I mention how very enchanting you look this evening? I regret we planned this as a masquerade and left even half of your lovely face obscured.”

She tries to fight the blush and fails. Her only serious relationship before now being Ron, she’s not used to compliments any more eloquent than “you look nice” or “bloody hell, can we skip the dinner and stay here and shag?” The latter, ten minutes before dinner with her parents, had told her he wasn’t really adept at appropriate timing, well-intended as the sentiment had been.

“That’s kind of you,” she answers back softly, biting her lip under his gaze and absolutely playing up a coquettish glance. What’s the harm, really, in flirting a little with Theo? He seems interested, and it’s not like anyone in Gryffindor is asking…or Ravenclaw…or Hufflepuff…

Ok so NO ONE is asking. Ginny tells her it’s because she’s intimidating. That might be true, but, she had shot back in a fit of pique, if someone doesn’t show her some interest soon, she’s brilliant enough to find a way to hex the lot of them.

She’s aware that’s exactly the type of thing that makes her seem intimidating.

Her dance partner chuckles. “Kind is one thing of which I’m not often accused, Granger.”

Hermione grins and they settle into a faster dance, barely talking as he spins her and dips her, causing her to laugh and even let out a short shriek when he leans over her so low she is sure he will drop her to the ground. 

She’s never had so much fun on a dance floor. Madame Harrington’s school was about poise and rhythm and grace. Now, she lets go of everything she knows beyond the most basic musicality, following him bravely and trusting his lead. Not for nothing, there is also an intimacy, being pressed against him and speaking close. He is warm and solid and deliciously tall, making her feel somehow powerful and feminine, strong but dainty, all at once.

When the music slows, they settle back in to a closer hold and pick up their conversation as if they never stopped talking. The idea that they would part from one another, seek out other partners or reconnect with their friends, isn’t even entertained as a possibility.

Their conversation drifts around a few casual topics. It seems they share a love of Ancient Runes, would give their right arm for tuna sashimi to appear on the tables in the Great Hall, and enjoy many of the same Wizarding fiction titles for pleasure reading while being equally enamored by true history. Recently, they both devoured a tale of the building of the Ministry and all the bloody conflicts that helped it evolve to its current state. In short, the things they have in common are staggering. 

How has she not crossed paths with him before? Slytherin, sure, but all their shared classes and she hadn’t picked up on any of it? Theo, however, seemed to have some inkling as to their compatibility as he brought up the books like he fully expected her to agree. She can’t be certain, but he seems oddly invested in her for someone who knew nothing about her. Maybe he’s been interested for some time? The prospect is very appealing the more they talk. He’s clever and elegant and an all-together intriguing wizard.

Somehow, they end up back on the topic of Malfoy and the rather lonely existence of the decimated Slytherin House. 

“He wanted to ask you to dance,” Theo tells her.

Hermione raises her brow and tilts her head back, incredulous. “Why?” She blurts out, completely inelegantly, and then clears her throat and tries again. “I mean, I can’t imagine why he would want to do that. Or why he’d think I would agree.”

Theo frowns. “You wouldn’t?”

“Well, I mean…” She falters, noticing the disappointed look on her partner’s face. “I just think if he asked I would imagine it was all just some game. ‘Embarrass the mudblood’ or something. I… that is to say… I can’t believe he would even want to… He has made his opinions on my feminine charms pretty clear over the year… I just… You’re not serious right?” 

She’s not felt this awkward since long before the war. Near-death, torture, intimate relationships, physical and magical battles… Hermione is aged beyond her years and not quite the studious, socially inept swot she once was. But here, faced with this very genteel man, scrutinizing her face, she feels like the bushy-haired wallflower she used to be.

“I’m quite serious,” he says with a nod. “Not as a game, either. He…” Theo swallows and it seems there is much more he means than the words he’s saying. “He wanted to ask you. Draco…He wants to apologize, and… more. He wants to get to know you.”

She scrunches her face in disbelief. Then something clicks and she stops the swaying motion that has become like second nature in the hour or more they have been dancing. “Did he send you over here? Is that… Merlin, I’m such a fool.”

It seems, in her list of houses, no Slytherins are asking for her attentions either. What she thought was a man who might be interested in her as a woman, appears to be just a good friend helping his ferrety cohort with an apology to soothe his post-war guilt.

Stepping away and breaking their hold, Hermione offers a completely appropriate and polite, if a little stiff, bow. “Thank you for the dances, Nott. It’s been… Thank you.”

She spins on her heel and heads straight for the doors. It’s nearly nine by now and completely acceptable to call it a night. She came, she put on her stupid half mask, she danced and smiled and played the part for house unity. Now, she’s ready to go back to her room and settle in to another night alone. 

She’s just almost made her escape, nearly running from the room and turning down a corridor, when she finds Luna pinned against the wall of the corridor outside, her hands buried in the blonde hair of a masked Draco Malfoy. 

The couple seems to hear Hermione’s shoes click to a halt as she looks for a way to retrace her steps and go another direction. Luna smiles and waves, wiggling the tips of her fingers. Draco smirks at her and makes a production of looking over her shoulder. “Where’s prince charming, Golden Girl? Did he muck it up?”

“I… you…UGH!” Hermione stomps her foot and makes to shove past the pair, throwing over her shoulder, “I guess Luna accepted your apology for the dungeons then? Not picky where you get your redemption apparently.”

She hears Nott approaching from behind and doesn’t slow. A mumbled, “What the fuck did you do?” and some muttered answer is exchanged before Hermione turns another corner and can no longer hear the pair of them scheming their wolfish schemes.

“Granger!”

She groans. “What could you possibly want now?”

She turns to find an unmasked Draco jogging to catch up with her. It’s an odd sight, to be sure: Hair ruffled, tie loosened, mask dangling from his fingertips. He looks so casual and, Merlin help her, handsome, it nearly makes her sick at herself for thinking it. 

There is a part of her, a rather large part, which had hoped it would be Theo on her heels. That he would run after her and apologize for bringing up his bigoted friend, and assure her he was with her because he wanted to be, not as a favor to Draco Malfoy. That he meant all the complimentary and nearly romantic things he’d said.

When Draco catches her, he straightens and throws his head back, running his hand through his hair. “Merlin, you’re faster than you look.”

She snorts. “Is that a dig at my height? Perhaps my inferior muggle blood has a regressive trait for speed we don’t know about?”

He starts to respond, probably defend himself, when she waves her hand around, dismissing him before he has had a chance to utter a word. “Nevermind. Just, what do you want, Malfoy? Shouldn’t you be getting back to Luna? I don’t necessarily agree with her choice but it’s hers to make.”

“Granger, I…” He looks lost and for just a moment she feels bad for him. It’s brief and won’t keep her up at night, but it’s definitely there.

“Just… don’t worry about it, alright? Theo says you want to apologize so just… it’s fine. You can just go forward knowing I forgive you. It’s better for my health if I let it go anyway. And tell Theo he really went above and beyond. He’s a good friend, Malfoy. Be sure to thank him. He spent a lot of time this evening building up to your apology. I’m sure there were other witches he would have preferred to charm with much more selfish results, rather than being stuck with me.”

“You find me charming?”

“No,” she says slowly, like he’s about a thousand “T’s” short of a N.E.W.T. “I said Theo was charming.”

“Was it the dancing? Or the deep discussion of Most Potente Potions that had your heart racing.”

How does he know what they discussed? She shakes off that thread of thought. “Who said my heart was racing? I can acknowledge he was charming without having been charmed.”

“He was charmed by you,” Draco says softly.

“I… what IS this? Are you both just… trying to mess with me? Confuse the mudblood?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call yourself that,” he frowns. “And no one is trying to confuse you. I mean, not on purpose, but it seems I did a masterful job of it.”

It’s Hermione’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

She watches Draco sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. “I was going to tell you early on and then… conversation just go the best of me. Now, I’m not sure I want to, world class grudge holder that you are.”

He offers a wry smile and Hermione takes a step back, not liking the feeling that she’s been left out of a punch line. When he places the mask back on, she watches as it does more than cover his eyes. What she had guessed to be a glamour on his mouth, is even more than that. His jaw line softens, his lips thin, and, most telling, his platinum hair turns to a chocolate brown.

“Oh my God.” She’s struck dumb on the spot. Hermione has never felt more stupid, and she feels tears prick at her eyes. Nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, makes Hermione feel worse than being fooled.

“Granger?”

When she looks back up, her eyes stinging in her effort to keep them dry, he is watching her warily and has removed the mask again.

“I’m sorry. I… I was trying to tell you. That’s why I mentioned…” He swallows and tries again. “It’s why I told you I wanted to apologize. I was… trying to lead up to it.”

“You’re Nott… I mean, Theo was you… I mean… Godric, I sound so stupid. It was you? All night?”

Draco nods, “It was,” and takes a step closer.

“So you’re the one that likes sushi but doesn’t care for nori?”

“The same.”

“You read Magic in the Hands of Corruption and liked it?”

“To be fair, Malfoys has an embarrassingly inside view of that corruption so it was a fascinating read.”

“You have a collection of stuffed unicorns you started when you were two years old?”

He stops, his slow pace taking him just a few short feet away from her in the quiet corridor. “Dragons, actually. I just… I was enjoying our conversation then and… I don’t know, dragons felt like an obvious clue. Plus, Theo is totally the type of poncy git to have unicorns.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but her smile, slowly spreading, conveys what she could mean is “you’re adorable.”

His answering smile is broad. He looks very pleased with himself. “Am I forgiven?”

Hermione fold her arms over her chest, not letting him off that easy.

“For what, precisely,” she asks with an arch of her brow.

“Well, first for the deception this evening. Though I can’t say I regret it entirely. You wouldn’t have accepted my dance invitation had you known.” He says it with a pout, like he’s wounded by her previous assertion that she would have denied him.

“And?” She prompts, brow raising higher.

“Well…” Draco clears his throat and steps just one pace closer. “I was hoping to apologize for more. For… for the war. Especially… you know, the Manor and… And, for our earlier… uh, interactions…and, the names… hexes. Just, all of it…”

“You’re rubbish at apologies, do you know that? Where’s that charming man who danced with me all night?”

“He had a mask,” he says. “He was braver, when you thought he was someone else.”

Well if that isn’t the sweetest, saddest thing she’s ever heard. 

“So who was that then? Who did I dance with all night? Was that really Draco Malfoy? Or just the costume you put on for me?”

“That’s the realest version of me Hogwarts has ever seen,” he answers, completely sincere and a little vulnerable.

“Oh… Well, I quite liked him.” Hermione pushes a curl behind her ear and slides the mask from her face, wanting to be on equal, honest ground.

“There she is,” he says with a soft smile and reaches a hand to brush his knuckles across her exposed cheek.

“You knew it was me,” she points out, equally quiet.

Draco nods. “I did. But I told you earlier, it was a shame to hide your face. You look beautiful tonight, Granger.”

“You looked like Theo,” she quips and he rewards her with the most genuine laugh she’s ever heard from Draco (at least, while aware of who he is). 

“Am I still charming? Was it the hair that turned your head? Please tell me you’re not adverse to blonds.”

She smiles in spite of herself and shakes her head. “I was never interested in Theo for his hair.”

“What was it then, that caught your interest?”

When did he move so close? Hermione has to tilt her head now to meet his gaze and his knuckles continue to stroke down her cheek. She closes her eyes for just a moment to drink in the feeling of being so discreetly, so politely, seduced.

“The dancing,” she whispers, and reaches to lay her hand delicately against his; her palm trapping his fingers against her cheek. “You move like you want me. Like you wish I was yours.”

“Then I did a very good job of conveying what I wanted to say without pesky works getting in the way.”

“In the way?” She whispers the question and feels her breath bounce back from against his lips.

“Of this.” And he kisses her. Words suddenly seem very much like a nuisance, and she doesn’t argue the point.

“Would you like to go back?” He asks her softly.

“To the party?”

He nods. “Dance with me,” he says. It’s a statement that could not be full of more questions.

Hermione searches his eyes for a moment and plays back through the highlights of their evening. The man she has known for so long as an enemy is staring at her with trepidation and bald, unapologetic hope. She reaches down to his hand, holding his mask loosely at his side. “Leave this off,” she tells him. “I want to see your face.”

“Only if you leave off yours,” he bargains and grins. That sexy grin with those perfect teeth. She finds it an easy bargain to make and, hours later, when the sky is starting to turn blue and the castle is asleep, the house elves have to shoo them back to their dorms so they can begin their clean up.

“Can I see you today?” he asks.

An unseasonably warm February Sunday is dawning around them, and Hermione nods in agreement. “Lunch in Hogsmeade?”

“At the least,” he says loftily. “Prior to that…” Here he falters, and his bravado seems to give way to something softer. “Perhaps lying beside me?”

She starts to argue. It’s entirely too soon for that, right? Even if it’s only to sleep? Sure, they spent the last eight hours dancing and talking and kissing in the dark corners of the room. Sure, he’s been incredibly sincere and open, telling her secrets and mysteries that shed so much light on a boy who had no choice for so long. Sure, he’s handsome and charming and admitted to harboring deep-seated feelings for her for years, hiding it beneath snark and insults for as much her protection as his own.

Wait, why is she hesitating again?

“I’m exhausted,” she hedges, not wanting to appear easy and not being entirely certain she’s up for much else.

“Well, we literally danced until dawn,” he chuckles. “I think that’s to be expected…” He takes a breath and continues, “I don’t want to say good bye just yet. We’ll go to sleep, I’d just like to know you haven’t gone anywhere. I’m half afraid I’ll wake up any moment, curled up in front of a Vanishing Cabinet, living a nightmare.”

She gives it one last consideration. Looking from all angles and weighing her options. Draco Malfoy unmasked himself tonight for her, in more than just the obvious way. He’s studying her now like she holds his heart in her hand and he’s resigned himself that she might just squeeze until it bleeds dry. 

“How do you hold a wine glass?”

He starts, confusion settling into his grey eyes, before answering with a scoff. “By the stem, of course. Or you’ll warm the wine. Is this a test?”

She knew he’d know. She just wanted to stall, make one last point to herself before jumping headfirst into a completely delicious, reckless decision. But then, Gryffindors are known to be brave, right? She didn’t hesitate to mess around with a basilisk or hunt horcruxes. Isn’t it time she went after something for herself with the same tenacity?

“My mother will love you. Come on, Draco. Let’s get some sleep.”

He doesn’t let his confusion slow him down as he follows her from the hall then scoops her up and carries her toward his room, a broad and sincere smile on this lips. Hermione, equally open and unmasked, giggles the entire way.


End file.
